Re:Start
by A Bowl of Noodles
Summary: A dystopian future. A world where technology is everything. A young cyborg with a thirst for what once was, and the people who want to use him. Cyberpunk AU.


_A/N: I've had this idea in my head for months now. I've finally gotten off my lazy ass to write this down. I've been listening to the NeoTokyo soundtrack while writing. It's pretty great.  
Many thanks to Nikki and Plume for beta reading. Couldn't have checked my own crap without you guys. Cover image from bwusagi.  
_

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"_Welcome to the New Age."  
-Imagine Dragons  
'Radioactive.'  
-_

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He'd been regarded, once upon a time, as someone so knowledgeable in his profession that he was hailed the title of 'Grand Technomancer'. His ability around machinery and technology was envied by the people, and understandably so.

Technology, these days, was advancing faster and faster, by the hour, by the second. Anyone involved in the industry of developing it would know the stress of being involved. With so many people working towards more, more power and more advancement, it would be inevitable that there would be competition. Everyone fighting to develop things faster, better, better than the others. There was no rest for the scientists and the engineers of the age- blink and you'd miss something already, with every day that passed, something new was found and developed further. If you didn't catch up, if you weren't ahead of everyone, you'd be stuck in a meaningless rut, forever behind.

Average. Just like everybody else.

Out of the hundreds of thousands of so-called scientists and engineers, there were of course, some that caught more attention than others. Only a handful could catch up, running faster ahead than the crowd behind them. Discovering and developing new things in this day and age were both easy and difficult, with everybody hounding for the next big thing, the new something to make them special and unique. The world was a cyber-centered space now, and any Tom, Dick and Harry had access to some sort of technology. And it was so easy to alter. Also difficult, then, to make something special. It was hard, but there were those who could do it. Who had names the world knew.

One of these was a Francis Bonnefoy.

He was from a French city, and moved to the new landmass of a country ages ago. He'd started on a scholarship and he soared from there. His grades were always aced, his projects sending even his teachers and mentors and professors in long pauses of awe. He had talent, raw, raw talent, and by the time he was twenty-two he was working for one of the highest sectors in the technological world, making new machines and designs and prototypes that were envied by his co-workers and competitors and sent the rest of everyone else in the industry a dosage of inspiration.

The best part was, he was not particularly overly proud of his status. He was friendly, and (most) people liked him for that. It wasn't a job to him- it was a hobby, something he loved. There was something almost cliché-ly magical about the way pieces fit together, something comforting about the whir and pulse of electricity. It made him happy, and as far as he knew, that was what mattered. The fame that came along with it was nice too, admittedly, and he had his fair share of women and men who would end in his bed with just a come hither gesture from him, but his true love had always been the designs under his fingertips and the feel of sleek metal and chrome.

In the so-called race to progress, he sprinted ahead without trying.

Though it was both nice and stressful to work in his sector, by the time he turned 30, he had gained his title of a 'Technomancer' (not quite a real title, but used all the same) and by the time he turned 32, he retired. He'd had enough of the life and the pressures of the people working around him, his higher-ups and his friends and colleagues pushing him to create and develop new things, faster, faster, while his unknown enemies silently waited with anger in their glares as they silently willed for him to screw up, just screw up _something_ already. It didn't really bother him very much, but he figured it'd be good for him to leave regardless.

He retired to his own quiet home around the outskirts of the city centre, near enough to get necessary things but far enough to not be bothered. Just because he stopped work didn't mean he stopped in his technological advancement- he worked on all that from the comfort of his home. His years of innovative and creative designs and his work had led him to a great sum of money- with the fact that he didn't have much of anyone else to provide for but himself, he had plenty more than enough to last his lifetime.

His home was as simple as most average, or above-average people would have, with the usual technology and gadgets implemented, improvised with his own installations, and he had made a sort of his own personal lab inside there as well, where he could work in peace without having to worry about the pressure of work, or someone depending much on him. His love with his work meant that he didn't quite have time for relationships. Not to say he didn't want to be in one, but he'd rather have waited for someone to come on their own than go out seeking someone to spend his life with.

He was content with his prototypes and that was it. After all, the ultimate goal of every human was to achieve happiness, and if he was happy and healthy, then he figured there was nothing wrong with keeping up his current lifestyle. He was handsome and fully aware of it, he knew it would be easy to find someone who would like him, but though he was perfectly sociable, he liked the silence and peace of home.

His experiments and prototypes ranged in variation. Some of them were very small things- when he was bored, he'd reprogram his toaster or his food devices. And then some of them were very big experiments- things he couldn't let anyone else know about. Like Chelles. Or, like Alfred.

Alfred Foster Jones came into his life when he was 36- he'd asked for him specifically, and through some means he'd never reveal, he'd got him. The boy was American, twelve years old, and got into a car crash whilst crossing over the border. His parents died immediately upon impact. Alfred was considerably safer, strapped firmly to the backseat. He wasn't injured when they hit the other car- however, he was in critical condition after they skidded across and tumbled into a storm drain, the car flipping for a few times before landing on it's top. It was lucky the border patrol had got to him and pulled him out before the vehicle exploded. Still, it didn't help the fact that he lost a good part of the right side of his upper torso and his entire right arm, as well as an eye. The hospital they admitted him to said he had a concussion as well, and he was unconscious for a few days before waking up to the smiling face of an unfamiliar Frenchman.

Francis had taken the care to stick around with the boy, waiting until the doctors made sure that he was capable enough to talk and understand him, before he started telling the boy about what he wanted to do. He explained thoroughly, repeatedly, day after day, just to make sure. He wasn't about to make this boy some sort of lab rat. He loved science, but he wasn't that mad. Eventually, Alfred agreed to it, and Francis managed to adopt him through some means. A social worker would come to visit, the only other person who knew about Francis' plans. She wasn't really necessary- Francis knew that Alfred didn't have the means to take care of himself, nor did he have any relatives to take him in, and for everyone else, the boy was just a limbless chunk of meat, without money nor a home. He didn't have a chance in the world as he was. She stopped coming after the second week.

It was sort of an unspoken agreement between Francis and the people handling the boy. It'd be better for him to end up in his arms as an experiment, than an orphaned child beggar on the streets that she knew he would be if they'd left him. To the rest of them, Alfred was nothing but garbage, ready to be thrown out, burnt in an incinerator. With Francis, he was safer, for the most part.

That'd been six years ago.

Now, Francis was 42, with lines beginning to show on his face, and was currently walking over to a room down the hall. The walls gleamed white, and he groaned, feeling his eyes strain. He'd spent the past 24 hours in his lab, programming something, and coming out to light again made him feel more tired than he had been initially. He walked to the wall where a square glass panel was, sliding two fingers down the screen, dimming the walls until it was to his liking, before continuing his walk down to a different door, swiping it open and frowning at the sight.

"Alfred, you really need to start doing something other than playing with those fish of yours." He groaned, leaning against the doorway, blowing the stray strands of greasy blonde hair out of his face.

The eighteen year old male just whined immaturely, splayed over his beanbag. Alfred had grown into a nice young man. After Francis had built specialized bionic parts for the boy, replacing his arm and half his torso and his eye, he spent most of his time focusing on how to improve them, experimenting on Alfred (completely with his consent, of course.) With the technology Francis used for him, it'd be dangerous to let him out, so Alfred was forbidden to step outside the house. As much as he didn't like imprisoning the boy, Francis didn't have much of a choice. Letting him wander outside was basically throwing him into a pit of hyenas (if they still existed)- he'd be as good as dead.

Alfred understood this fully. Francis routinely told him about what he was doing, and Alfred knew that he was supposed to be nothing more than experiment material. But he knew what would've happened had he not taken him in, and he was grateful for Francis for it. Even more grateful that Francis ended up more of a fatherly figure than some cruel and cold scientist.

Naturally, though, it sucked to stay inside all the time. The virtual reality programs only did so much. He worked out a lot, Francis had practically built him all the machines he wanted, and so he was rather strong and toned. It was a shame that he couldn't show it off to anyone, or even put any of that strength to much use. Still, Francis treated him well, like his own son, and he was given most of what he asked for, so he couldn't complain about anything too much.

"I'll stop playing with the fish when you finally take a shower. You _stink._" Alfred said, wrinkling his nose as he turned back to the large translucent screen floating above him, holographic koi swimming gracefully. It was too bad that they didn't exist anymore.

Francis frowned, trying to look like it didn't affect him, until he sniffed himself and pulled a face. "Alright, alright. I get it. But I was up all night and day working- I at least have a reason to smell."

"Right, right. Your hair looks horrible by the way." Alfred commented, grinning as he looked over. Francis gasped dramatically, before rolling his eyes and walking away to shower, mumbling to himself about his greasy locks.

As the door shut, Alfred sighed, finally closing down the holographic koi app and settled to just lie on his beanbag chair, turning his head to look out the window, his robotic eye adjusting quickly to the view. The evening was coming, and the city lights were beginning to light up, endless splotches of neon in the murky skies. He knew what was happening outside. He wasn't blind to the world and naïve, despite his years spent indoors.

Year 2111, he repeated in his head.

Technology had taken the reigns of human life over a century ago, and now, it was a daily essential. Part of life. It was impossible to go somewhere without a piece of it. Even the beggars on the streets begged for money with rusted, robotic clampers for arms. To be without technology would be to be lower than scum. In the new cyber-era that'd taken them all, he watched slowly as the polluted world grew dimmer by the day. The air outside was becoming more and more hazardous, only cleansed within the city, while the outskirts of town were almost toxic- people had to wear masks further out to survive. The city itself was locked in- at the very edges of it were walls that no one could cross. The toxicity of the outside would be too much. It was said that the outside was basically a garbage dump- or forgotten ruins left to rot.

There was almost no organic food nowadays- most animals had gone extinct a long while ago, the closest things to it were the insects and pests roaming the drains and dirty streets and the occasional mangy cat or dog. The dark markets sold other creatures too, forbidden by law. Even the food was made out of the same substance, simply flavoured and altered to look like what once would've been natural. It sickened Alfred, but it was the reality he lived in. Escape was futile.

At least, that was what most of everyone said. Where could one escape, anyway? The world was deep into cyber-reality. You step out of one place to an identical other, they said. It was highly depressing.

Still, Alfred wanted to go out. Not to the cities, not to any part of town actually- he just wanted to go out and find what had been gone a long time ago. He wanted to find trees and plants again. He wanted to find animals. He wanted to hear the ocean and see a blue, non-artificial sky. He could only dream.

As night finally descended over the city, the bright neon lights of the city centre hid the stars that Alfred had read were once upon a time, visible in the sky. He longed for a world that had once been. Once.

Slowly, he propped himself up on his arms, stretching before getting up. No use in dwelling over it now. He had to make dinner.


End file.
